


Lay Your Cards Out

by explosionshark



Series: Mouthful of Diamonds [2]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, F/F, Fluff, Post-Game, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 08:11:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11847501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/explosionshark/pseuds/explosionshark
Summary: “I’m sorry,” Victoria says again.Taylor wants to push Victoria down, to reach down into her and drag out the rest of the apology she’s owed. She wants to know that Victoria understands what hurt her,why, but it’s all so exhausting. She leans back against the door instead, still gripping the doorknob, waiting.“I don’t know,” Victoria sounds like she’s been choked, voice hoarse, barely there, “okay? I don’t know what we are.”--Victoria and Taylor figure things out.





	Lay Your Cards Out

**Author's Note:**

> oh, hey, wow. it's been ages, huh?
> 
> i wrote this for my [best friend](http://mostlymilkwood.tumblr.com/). it turned out way smuttier and longer than i ever planned. also it took me a year and a half. sorry, amy.
> 
> also, there's a digression about halfway through this thing through my elaborate but entirely unfounded taylor/brooke shared history HCs, details of which can be found [here](http://explosionshark.tumblr.com/tagged/the-gaylor-chronicles).
> 
> thanks to [kae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TippyTypewriter) and various other for beta-ing.
> 
> title from the song by polica

Taylor’s not asleep when her phone starts vibrating on the nightstand beside her bed, not even close, thumb already sliding across the screen to answer before her mind even registers Victoria’s name.

She’s been in Seattle for a little over a week now and Taylor hasn’t heard much from her. It’s 3 a.m., October 22, two weeks after Kate Marsh almost threw herself off a building, since Taylor idiotically gambled their friendship on a poorly timed kiss; eleven days since the cops raided Mr. Jefferson’s creepy bunker; eleven days of continuous news coverage, of more stomach-turning details about what Jefferson and Nathan had done in that room; ten days since Victoria’s parents came to pick her up, to get her away from the circus.

There’s a beat of silence, Taylor opens her mouth to speak, but finds it empty of words. Victoria too is silent, so quiet that if it weren’t for the timer ticking on the screen of the phone, Taylor would almost believe she dreamed the call.

“Hi,” she breathes when she finds her voice again, wincing even as she speaks because it’s _just not enough._ After everything they've been through, all the things that have changed, all the time that's passed and _hi_ is still the best she can do. 

“Hey, Sweet-T,” Victoria sighs into the phone, the pet name stalling Taylor’s breath in her throat for half a heartbeat. 

There’s a pause again, this time longer than before. The silence is huge and empty, spanning all the miles between them. Taylor feels like an idiot, lying on her back in the dark, fumbling somewhere in that space for the right words to say. She’s played out this conversation a dozen times in her head over the last week, but suddenly now that it’s happening she doesn’t know what to do, what to say.

She breathes in, shaky. Holds the air in her lungs.

“What are you doing up?” Victoria asks at length.

 _I can’t sleep_ , Taylor wants to say. _I close my eyes and I see Kate tipping over the edge of the roof. I feel Jefferson’s hands on my shoulders, leaning down to look at my photos. I smell his cologne. I think about the times you stayed late to work with him. I think about the nights you spent with Nathan, alone in his room. I think about what they’re saying on the news. I think about what could have happened._

All of these things and more, they bubble up in her throat, hot and sour like bile, threatening to spill past her lips, but she grits her teeth and swallows them back. She can’t. She can’t.

Whatever she’s going through right now is a thousand times worse for Victoria.

“Just watching TV,” she lies, drawing her thumb up to her mouth. She presses her nail against her bottom row of teeth and bites down, absently working her jaw along its edge. “What about you?”

“I didn’t expect you to pick up,” Victoria admits, instead of answering. Taylor’s almost relieved by the deflection, scared of how badly she might fuck things up when they finally have the conversation they’re both avoiding. She and Victoria have been through a lot together, and for the last three years they’ve had each other’s backs for all of it, but it’s never been anything this heavy. Even the stuff with her mom, the stuff with Kate, none of that feels like it comes close to the revelations uncovered in the dark room, to the knowledge that one of Victoria’s best friends had murdered Rachel Amber. “I thought I’d end up just leaving a voicemail.”

“Do you want me to hang up?” It’s the sudden taste of blood more than the pain that makes Taylor draw her thumb out of her mouth, blood oozing up from the skin that used to be under her nail. “You can call back and leave a message.”

“Sure, if I wanted to waste my fucking time,” Victoria sighs, but the annoyance Taylor expects to hear isn’t there. There’s no edge accompanying her pointed words, no bite at all. She just sounds tired. She sounds _exhausted._

Honestly, Taylor would prefer Victoria’s ire.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be coming back next week,” Victoria says and Taylor can’t deny her relief. She wonders if it’s selfish, if it would be better for Victoria to stay at home with her parents, but she doubts it. The Chases, as Taylor remembers them, are courteous but cold. The week she’d spent with them over the summer, she’d been startled by the lack of closeness between Victoria and her parents, between Mr. and Mrs. Chase themselves.

She slips her thumb back into her mouth and sucks away the blood, swiping her tongue across the wound to soothe it. It throbs, it aches, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to set it between her molars and bite down hard. It’s the first time since Victoria left that Taylor’s been grateful for her absence, for the opportunity to be a disappointment in private.

“What day?” Taylor asks, peering through the dark at the wrecked, jagged stumps of her fingernails. Frustration gnaws at her stomach. She wishes Oregon were colder, so she could get away with wearing gloves.

Victoria tells her that she’s driving down on Sunday and Taylor doesn’t ask why her parents aren’t dropping her off themselves. Taylor doesn’t ask about Victoria’s parents at all, smart enough to know by now that if Victoria doesn’t bring them up herself, she doesn’t want to talk about them.

Victoria never offers and Taylor never asks. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with them, Taylor thinks. Instead of learning how to talk to each other, they just let the silences stack up between them, draped in inane bullshit like who’s going to what party, whose new haircut is a fucking disaster, which fucking loser thinks their shit is way too hot. She used to call it respecting Victoria’s boundaries, she used to call it not rocking the boat, but maybe it’s cowardice. Maybe Victoria wants someone to push, maybe she needs it, and Taylor’s silence hurts them both.

Maybe that’s what let them become the people they’ve been this year, the kind of people that spread videos of a girl being assaulted at one of their parties, the kind of people that trick themselves into believing she could have somehow deserved it. 

She wonders if it was the same with Nathan. Taylor never really understood Victoria’s thing with him. He had always creeped Taylor out, a little. Aggressive, moody, way too unpredictable. _Unstable._ The only thing he ever seemed to care about was the next party, the next drink, the next chance to get fucked up.

But she never could have thought he was capable of the kinds of things they were saying on the news. Blackwell had been a circus since he and Jefferson had been arrested, crawling with media, everyone wanting an in-depth look at America’s freshest tragedy. Taylor thinks about the news vans circling the campus like sharks and almost wants to tell Victoria not to come back.

“He confessed,” Victoria whispers, breaking the quiet.

Taylor swallows hard against the taste of copper on her tongue and waits.

“Earlier today, I guess,” Victoria continues, voice faltering. “Kristine called me. They’re taking a plea deal, in exchange for testifying against Jefferson. If…. if they’re lucky he won’t have to spend the rest of his life in prison…”

Victoria gasps and shudders and the last time Taylor heard anyone cry this hard it was herself on the night of her mom’s diagnosis. She brings the heel of her palm up to her mouth and pushes it hard against her lips, feeling her eyes well up with tears to match Victoria’s.

“I’m sorry,” she says. It feels so stupid. It’s not enough, but it’s all she has to offer.

“How could he have done this?” Victoria asks. “He was _my friend._ He… his parents fucked him up, his dad was so mean, and that’s… it’s not an excuse, but it’s not _fair._ His dad and then _Jefferson_ and now he’s going to rot in jail _for years_ because… God, he _murdered_ Rachel Amber, he hurt all those girls. He— _Kate Marsh_. He’s my friend and he’s a _murderer._ ”

Victoria cries harder and harder, until Taylor can’t understand the words she’s saying, if she’s even saying words at all anymore. She cries and Taylor breathes and waits and listens, a silent witness to Victoria’s grief. 

X.x.X.

It’s December now, the night before winter break, and the school Victoria returned to seven weeks ago is completely different from the one she left behind.

Any association with Nathan Prescott, and by extension the Vortex Club, once a social asset, is now a tremendous hurdle. The club had dissolved entirely, leaving Victoria unmoored. Vulnerable. The rumors had started before the crime scene tape had even been peeled off of Nathan’s door. That he and Victoria had been dating. No, Victoria and Jefferson had been dating. No, all three of them in some fucked up threeway. That Victoria knew about what happened to Kate, that she’d tried to get Kate to kill herself to protect Nathan and Jefferson, that’s she’d planned the whole thing.

Taylor doubted anyone could actually believe the shit they were saying, but that was cold comfort in the face of the whispers that dogged them in the hallways, or the onslaught of accusations online. Victoria wasn’t the only target, Taylor herself, Courtney, Hayden, anyone who’d been friends with Nathan was catching shit.

The people who had crowded into Nathan’s parties, who had gladly let him ply them with drugs and booze, had turned on him immediately. Everyone suddenly had stories about what a monster Nathan had been the whole time, how they knew something was off all along. Everyone except Victoria. She refused to talk about him, about any of it to anyone and her silence was as good as a confession of guilt as far as the rumor mill was concerned.

Courtney didn’t speak to them anymore. Well, she still talked to Taylor, but not when she was with Victoria. Things had been tense between them since the start of senior year, they got worse when the Kate Marsh incident happened, but they went totally to hell when Victoria came back from Seattle. Their last fight had been _loud_ and public, and the timely arrival of Principal Wells had been the only thing that kept it from becoming physical, Taylor was sure.

Kate Marsh didn’t come back to Blackwell. Taylor had heard from Dana that she’d transferred to a different school.

Max Caulfield _did_ come back, though. She’d taken off about the same time Vic did, left town with that blue-haired punk friend of hers. Chloe. They came back the first week of November and now Max sneaks the other girl into her room every night. Everyone says they’re dating. Taylor hasn’t asked. It doesn’t feel like it’s her right to know.

Max treats Victoria and Taylor differently, but she doesn’t treat them worse. Taylor remembers how Max had changed during the week everything went wrong. More confident, more social. Driven, maybe. And Max has changed again since then, too. Cautious now, more withdrawn. Careful around people, especially Victoria. Taylor wonders if maybe she had something to do with busting Nathan and Jefferson; Max and her friend had been looking into the disappearance of Rachel Amber and the tip to the cops had been anonymous, after all.

But Taylor hasn’t asked. It doesn’t feel like it’s her right to know that, either.

There are some things people deserve to be able to keep for themselves.

“Taylor,” Victoria sighs and shuffles around behind her. Taylor feels the bed dip as Victoria shifts, then she feels Victoria’s knees brushing along the backs of her thighs, a hand falling to her hip.

“Hmmm?” She doesn’t trust her mouth to form words, tongue clumsy and thick behind her teeth, still a little drunk from the bottle of cheap champagne she and Victoria had finished earlier in the night. No one had invited them to any of their winter break parties this year, so they’d celebrated alone. Victoria had spent the evening pretending it didn’t bother her. Taylor found she kind of preferred things this way, just her and Victoria.

She feels a little guilty about it.

“Go the fuck to sleep already,” Victoria says, in her softest annoyed tone. The edge in her voice turns the corner of Taylor’s mouth upward. It’s been a rough couple of months. Victoria’s still learning how to navigate their new reality. She’s uneven in public, too soft or too harsh, careful or reckless, but never at ease. But here, alone with Taylor, flashes of the old Victoria peek through.

 _She’s comfortable,_ Taylor knows. _You make her feel comfortable._

“I can’t,” Taylor says, stomach muscles tightening as Victoria’s fingertips tap absently along the waist of her pajama shorts. “Thinking too much.”

“It’s…” There’s a pause and the bed shifts again and Taylor doesn’t need to look back to know Victoria’s grabbing her phone from the headboard to check the time. “It’s twelve thirty and we’ve been up since six a.m. And I _know_ you’re still drunk. _I’m_ still drunk, and your tolerance is way lower, than mine, so…”

She lets the statement hang in the air. Taylor breathes it in, but she can’t find the words to express her racing thoughts, the way they bounce around her skull ‘til she feels tired and sore, too on edge to relax. She shrugs, a helpless gesture, but it’s enough for Victoria.

A hand comes to rest between her shoulder blades, tentative at first, pressing harder when she doesn’t pull away. “Anxious?”

Taylor nods, melting into Victoria’s touch when she starts rubbing slow circles into Taylor’s back. For a moment it’s just quiet, the hum of the dorm room heater and the chorus of their breathing the only sounds in the room.

“I just keep thinking about everything that’s happened this year,” Taylor admits after a moment, the motion of Victoria’s hand coaxing the words out of her.

“Sounds like a problem a second bottle of champagne could fix,” Victoria murmurs and Taylor laughs despite the distinct lack of humor in Victoria’s voice. Victoria huffs indignantly into the nape of Taylor’s neck. “Don’t laugh, I’m serious, I think there’s still some vodka in my room, I’ll just…”

When the bed dips again behind her, Taylor turns without thinking, wrapping her arms around Victoria’s waist and pulling her back down into her body. “Don’t go.”

Victoria stiffens for a moment and a bolt of panic jolts Taylor, recalling the last time they’d been close like this. Pressed up against each other on Victoria’s couch, the night after Kate’s suicide attempt, she shuts her eyes against the memory of Victoria’s skin under her lips, the way her stomach flips at even the echo of that rejection. She loosens her hold.

Things are different now. Taylor hasn’t tried anything like that since. Victoria never seemed to hold it against her, not even that night.

They’re more comfortable now. They have boundaries.

Victoria relaxes against her, leans forward to rest her weight against Taylor’s body, nose tracing the line of Taylor’s clavicle. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care when Taylor shivers against her. 

“ _Relax_ , Taylor. Jesus,” Victoria grumbles, but Taylor can hear the faint edge of unease in her voice. “You’re stiff as a board. Act like you’ve felt human contact once in your life…”

That’s _rich_ coming from Victoria Chase, but it works. Taylor breathes out, releasing the tension in her body, dipping her chin down to brush against the top of Victoria’s head. She’s lying lower than normal on the bed, it makes her seem smaller in Taylor’s arms than she knows her to be.

This should feel weirder than it does, Taylor thinks, awash in the scent of Victoria’s shampoo. For most of their friendship, Victoria had seemed repulsed at worst and awkward at best when it came to physical displays of affection. It’s been different since that week in October; the fleeting touches and scant contact Taylor had always had to coax from Victoria were now given freely. No, _beseeched._ It had been alarming, that first time Victoria had sank into Taylor’s arms, stone sober, barely even embarrassed. Taylor hadn’t hesitated then, sure that if she had Victoria wouldn’t have recovered.

It’s no coincidence in Taylor’s mind that none of this began until Nathan went away, until all their other friends abandoned them, until Taylor was the only one left at Victoria’s side. She wonders sometimes if maybe she should feel used, but she can’t muster the feeling, not when she’s getting what she wants. Guilt, then, seems a bit more appropriate, but the feeling doesn’t quite stick, not with Victoria in her arms.

Maybe, she thinks, worrying her lip between her teeth, it can just be a good thing. Maybe it doesn’t have to be so complicated. But it’s hard to accept that fully when girls like them never got to enjoy good and simple all at once. She’s not sure either of them deserves it.

The longer they lie together, the closer they seem to get. Taylor’s not sure how it happens, but when Victoria’s bare legs twine with hers beneath the blankets, it spurs something reckless and hopeful in Taylor’s chest.

“Don’t go home tomorrow,” she whispers into Victoria’s hair.

There’s a long pause, long enough for Taylor to think Victoria might have fallen asleep. And then—

“What?” Her voice is so, so soft.

Taylor swallows hard against the uncertainty that tightens her throat. She wants this. It won’t hurt to ask. “Don’t go home tomorrow. Christmas isn’t for a few days just… come home with me. Stay for just a little while.”

“Your parents—” Victoria doesn’t sound reluctant, exactly. Something else. Concern?

“They love you,” Taylor interrupts. “You know that.”

“I’m sure they don’t want me in their house over the holiday,” Victoria protests. Stubborn.

“They want whatever’s going to make me happy.” It comes out a shade more forceful than Taylor had meant it, something almost desperate. It makes her feel crass and a little embarrassed. Even a little cruel, because she knows that Victoria can’t relate.

Not that the Chases were _bad_ parents, necessarily. Not that they didn’t care about her. Mr. and Mrs. Chase wanted what was _best_ for Victoria. But there was a difference, Taylor knew, between what was best for someone and what made them happy. She had to wonder if anyone was lucky enough to have them match up.

Victoria lets out a long, slow breath against Taylor’s shirt. Hot air filtering through the cotton, scorching her skin. She tightens her fingers in the fabric of Victoria’s pajama top.

“Okay,” she agrees.

“Okay?” Taylor repeats, startled by her victory.

“Okay.”

She feels Victoria smile into her chest. Taylor drops a chaste kiss atop her head before she can think about it, before she can decide it’s a bad idea.

Victoria doesn’t stiffen up, doesn’t snuggle further in. Doesn’t react at all.

She falls asleep first, something that’s never happened before. Taylor holds her, matching her breathing to the rise and fall of Victoria’s chest, until sleep takes her too.

x.X.x.

Everything changes again after winter break.

Victoria’s different when she comes back. More sure of herself, or at least less willing to drift through her final year of high school. She grounds herself again, first in academics, then in photography, and finally, socially. The rumors die off as the weeks tick by, other students suddenly losing their courage in the face of Victoria’s staunch refusal to be pushed around any longer.

It’s different from before. Victoria’s no less vicious, still keenly observant, able to destroy a person by identifying and exploiting their most painful insecurities. The difference is that now she holds back. Victoria isn’t instigating fights, she isn’t cutting someone down just to elevate herself. It’s not easy, Taylor can tell, but Victoria’s putting the effort into scaling back years of defensive behavior. Maybe other students notice that she’s trying too, maybe that’s why they start to lay off. She thinks that in spite of the viciousness the school had been so eager to dole out in the wake of the Dark Room charges, Blackwell might finally be tired of eating its own.

Kate Marsh comes back to school.

Blackwell Enrollment being what it is, a student transferring in the middle of the year is nearly unheard of. But Kate’s record is stellar and, more than that, the administration is willing to do anything to recover their image after the very public scandal of the Jefferson case. Taylor, for her part, has no idea why Kate would even _want_ to come back to Blackwell, after everything. Max says it’s because she didn’t want her Blackwell diploma to be another thing that bullies and Jefferson had taken from her.

Max.

Max is different, too.

She talks openly about Chloe, now. They’re together, she tells Taylor when they’re standing in line to receive their second semester schedules. They’d spent the winter break in Seattle, with Max’s parents. They were best friends growing up, Taylor finds out, and the Caulfields had been thrilled at the news that they started dating.

Taylor tells Max that she’s happy for her, and of course she _is,_ but something about the conversation churns in her stomach for the rest of the day. She can’t quite put her finger on it.

When she brings it up to Victoria later that evening, trying to be casual but no doubt failing miserably, she recognizes the feeling as dread. It’s dread that rocks in her gut as she trains her eyes on Victoria’s face and waits for a reaction.

“Good for them,” she mutters, glaring down at the open textbook on her lap, body’s tense, jaw set rigid. Taylor feels her dread melt into disappointment as Victoria changes the subject.

So, it’s a surprise when later in the month, Victoria presses Taylor back into the edge of a desk and _kisses_ her.

It’s Friday night and they’re in Victoria’s room, getting ready for the first party they’ve been invited to in months. Dana’s the host. Taylor suspects Max has something to do with their invitation, knows by the furrow in Victoria’s brow that she probably shares Taylor’s suspicions. Still, it’s not like they have the luxury of pride at this point.

Taylor’s leaning back against the closet, gaze drifting from the wall of photos above Victoria’s bed to Victoria-in-the-flesh, knees slightly bent, shoulders hunched just enough to allow her to do her makeup in the mirror.

The photos are good. Taylor’s always admired them, though she knows Courtney thought it was ridiculously vain of Victoria to have not one but _three_ huge prints of herself hanging over her bed. And, okay, maybe there’s some conceit there, but Taylor doesn’t think it’s so wrong to be proud of something you like about yourself.

Victoria has always drawn criticism from other girls, some more justified than others, but her self-confidence is a favorite target. Victoria wields her confidence like a weapon, but Taylor knows it’s more of a shield. The girls who hate her for it are hypocrites, Taylor thinks, to judge anyone for the ways they find to protect themselves. Besides, it doesn’t have to be as deep as all that.

Victoria loves art. Victoria’s _beautiful._ The prints are as gorgeous as anything else she adorns her walls with. They’ve always seemed perfectly at home to Taylor.

Perfectly at home, but admittedly distracting.

Taylor loves the photo with Princess. She likes it for the expression on Victoria’s face, still poised, still _aware_ of how good she looks, but there’s a candidness that creeps through in that print more than the others. Victoria loves that dog. No amount of carefully choreographed posing can fake the affection in her smile.

The photo on the far right is captivating too. There’s this smile she’s wearing. No, not a smile. _A smirk._ She’s staring straight into the lens, lip curled up, like she’s laughing at some joke Taylor will never get. The tilt of her head, the cant of her hips, the angle of her arms behind her head. It’s a challenge. It’s a _dare._

But it’s the middle photo that she keeps drifting back to this evening. Victoria, in a bikini, posed carefully against the railing of some boat. It’s the only photo with natural light, probably the least deliberately staged out of the three. She looks at ease; still in control, still very aware of the composition of the photo about to be taken, no doubt. But there’s a lightness to her smile that lifts Taylor’s heart into her throat.

There’s also just _a lot_ of skin on display. Every time Taylor pays attention to these photos she finds something new to admire about Victoria’s body. The angle of her jaw, the fullness of her lips, the plane of her stomach, the slope of her shoulders. Tonight, she’s stuck on the detail of the photo, the way that beads of water cling to her shoulders, her stomach, the ends of her hair. It’s—

“ _Taylor.”_

She starts guiltily, jerking her gaze away from the photos to meet Victoria’s eyes across the room. Victoria’s eyeing her with a peculiar look on her face, _intense_ but unreadable. Taylor swallows hard, hopes that her blush isn’t too obvious, or that Victoria’s at least feeling kind enough to ignore it tonight.

“Yeah, Vic?” Thank god her voice comes out even.

Victoria’s laser focus lingers for a moment longer, cutting through Taylor’s put-on nonchalance with brutal efficiency. Then she blinks and clears her throat, twisting around to glance at herself in the mirror again before sighing and turning to face Taylor. “Be honest, this color looks fucking stupid, doesn’t it?”

Taylor grimaces a little and shrugs, taking in the shade of the lipstick Victoria just applied. “It’s a little… bright.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Victoria grinds her heel into the carpet, spinning around to face the mirror again, grabbing a wet wipe from her closet and swiping at her lips. “That _bitch_. ‘Oh, Miss Chase, Pluminette is _definitely_ your color!’ And you know the lighting at their shitty stores just doesn’t _exist_ in the real world.”

“Victoria,” Taylor sighs, watching as Victoria scrubs at her mouth with the wipe. “Take it easy.”

“We’re going to be _late,”_ Victoria snaps.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Taylor murmurs. “Or stain your face,” she adds when Victoria rolls her eyes.

Taylor plucks the stained wipe from between Victoria’s fingers and drops a hand to Victoria’s waist to turn her around. “Let me.”

Gently, Taylor grabs a fresh wipe and blots at the remaining color on Victoria’s lips, careful not to press too hard or smear the color on Victoria’s skin. She keeps a gentle hold on the side of Victoria’s face, palm curving around the slope of Victoria’s jaw. Victoria stays perfectly still, breathing slow and even, eyes fixed on some spot over Taylor’s shoulder. It is, Taylor realizes, an intimate position. She wills herself not to blush, not to do anything that could make things _weird_ , like she had back in October.

After a few careful passes around Victoria’s lips, Taylor pulls back, reaching for a jar of Vaseline from the closet.

“Taylor,” Victoria groans. “I hate that shit.”

“Shut up, you know it works,” Taylor shoots back, pleased when Victoria pouts but doesn’t protest. “C’mere…”

They’re both silent as Taylor applies the jelly to Victoria’s lips, smearing it carefully with her fingertips. She tries not to read too much into the quickening of Victoria’s breath, the frantic path of her eyes along Taylor’s face. She tries not to get lost in the softness of Victoria’s lips under the pads of her fingers.

When she’s finished, there’s a heavy silence between them. Taylor realizes she’s breathing deeper than normal, struggles to cloak herself in the facade of normalcy that feels more and more phony under the weight of Victoria’s gaze.

“We’ve got to wait a minute before we take that off,” Taylor reminds her, pointlessly. Victoria nods, still silent. “Let’s pick out a different lipstick in the meantime.”

Victoria agrees and together they settle on a darker tone. It’s called _Let Me Tell You._ Taylor struggles not to laugh nervously when she reads it aloud because _of course._ Why not? Why not a lipstick shade called _Ruined Friendship_ or _Pathetic Lesbian Crush?_

Taylor helps Victoria remove the Vaseline and it’s no less intimate and dangerously charged as it was when she was applying it. She wishes she could do something to stop the fluttering in her stomach, the barest hint of a tremble in her hands. She wonders how much more she can take before Victoria notices.

“Help me put it on,” Victoria says, when Taylor tries to hand her the lipstick. “ _Well?_ ” she huffs when Taylor hesitates.

“Sure, Victoria,” Taylor says, clearing her throat lightly. She uncaps the lipstick and moves in closer. She tries to touch as little of Victoria as possible, but it’s too hard, her hands aren’t steady enough to pull it off, so she resumes her grip on Victoria’s face. She breathes out against Taylor’s palm as Taylor drags the tip of of lipstick over her upper lip and Taylor makes the mistake of glancing up into Victoria’s eyes.

Her pupils are huge, locked onto Taylor’s face. There’s something hungry there. She can’t be making it up, it’s there and it’s _real_ and it settles a lump in Taylor’s throat because _God_ —

 _God,_ she wants to kiss Victoria so bad. She’s can’t recall a single moment in the past year of their friendship where she _hasn’t_ wanted to kiss Victoria.

But she doesn’t.

Taylor sucks in a sharp breath and hurries to apply the rest of the lipstick, pleased that even in her haste she keeps it clean. When she steps back, Victoria rubs her lips together, spreading the color more evenly.

“How does it look?” she asks, voice huskier than Taylor’s ever heard it.

“Good,” Taylor nods, turning away before she does something stupid. “Good.”

“Taylor—” Victoria says. Then—

Then there’s Victoria’s hands on her hips, turning her back around. There’s her right hand, curled over Taylor’s waist, drawing her body closer even as she walks her back to the desk. There’s the edge of the desk pressing into her thighs. There’s Victoria’s left hand, cupped around the back of Taylor’s head, nails scraping lightly against her scalp. There’s Victoria’s breath ghosting lightly over her cheek, her chin, and then, _then_ —

Then there are Victoria’s lips, soft and pliant against her own.

The kiss itself is so soft it feels like it’s barely happening, despite the incessant grip of Victoria’s hands in her hair and at her waist. The pressure against her mouth is featherlight, cautious, unsure. Vulnerable. There’s a tenderness to it that _aches_ , that bruises Taylor someplace under her ribs.

Taylor gasps and shivers and before she can stop herself she’s surging forward, one hand flying up to rest in the middle of Victoria’s back, the other tangling itself in short, golden locks.

It’s too much, she thinks, when Victoria stiffens against her. It’s too much, she’s going to scare Victoria off. She forces herself to slow down, loosening her grip in Victoria’s hair, easing the pressure of her lips until she feels Victoria relax against her and then it’s _perfect._

Taylor leans back into the desk and Victoria dips down to keep their contact, melting into Taylor’s body, breaking the kiss only for a moment, just to take a quick breath before closing the distance between them again.

Taylor kisses her back hungrily, hoping Victoria can feel her restraint, hoping at the same time that the ferocity of her want isn’t as terrifying to Victoria as it is to herself sometimes. Taylor raises both arms to drape loosely across Victoria’s shoulders, careful not to hold her in place.

They kiss and they kiss and they breathe and something inside Taylor breaks because she knows that now that she’s had this, now that she knows the feel of Victoria’s lips upon hers, she’ll never be able to settle for anything less.

The thought is terrifying.

She pushes it out of her mind.

They’re late to the party.

x.X.x.

Their first fight is in February.

Maybe it had been a bit naive for Taylor to think that things would be totally different after they kissed on the night of the party. 

In the four years they’ve been at Blackwell, Victoria hasn’t had a single boyfriend. There have been _boys_ , sure, but nothing serious. They’ve never been more to her than a fling at a party, a tool to alleviate her own boredom, a way to ascend another rung on the social ladder. Victoria isn’t _about_ relationships, she’d say. She’s about her art. She’s about working hard and getting what she wants, and that doesn’t include getting tied down by a relationship.

But the thing is, Taylor has _seen_ the way Victoria is with boys and it doesn’t look anything like the way Victoria is with her. 

In the halls they’re the same as they’ve always been; just friends, just two girls, just _normal._ But every evening after class, she and Victoria tumble into each other like magnets; mindless, helpless, like the contact between their bodies, their lips is an inevitability, the natural state of the universe. And every night, Victoria slides back the covers and coaxes Taylor into her bed and curls her body in close around Taylor’s ‘til there’s no room between them, ‘til Taylor is afraid they might melt together if she slips up, if she lets go.

It’s been like this for _three weeks_ which should be long enough for Taylor to start to relax. What’s happening between them now is intentional, even if Victoria’s intent is still a mystery. It’s not like she can just _ask_ , even though she fantasizes about doing just that at least once a day. That’s just not how it works, with them. It never has been.

If Victoria wanted to talk about this, she would have brought it up herself.

So Taylor rolls with it. She accepts the kisses Victoria presses into her mouth gladly, she leans into every touch and embrace Victoria offers in the privacy of their rooms, she twines her fingers through Victoria’s when’s she’s close enough to grab. She doesn’t ask for more. She never refuses what she’s offered. She fights against the vice grip of anxiety around her ribcage when her fears catch up to her, lets Victoria’s sure hands on her back, her shoulders, her arms guide her through the worst of it.

Despite the way it sometimes feels with Victoria’s arms looped lazily around Taylor’s waist, Victoria’s nose brushing aside the soft tiny hairs on the nape of Taylor’s neck, they’re not dating.

But they’re not just friends anymore, either. And they’ve spent every night of the past week together by the time Valentine’s Day rolls around, so Taylor doesn’t even think to question her assumption that they would be together again that night until Victoria starts at the question, flinching hard like she’d just brushed a livewire, fumbling the makeup case in her hands, ‘til it falls to the floor in a clatter, powder foundation spilling out across the carpet.

“ _Shit,”_ Victoria snarls, crouching down to clean up the mess.

Taylor blinks, alarmed, and hauls herself off the bed and across the room. Victoria slaps her hands away when she reaches down to help, sends her to the showers down the hall with a washcloth. Taylor goes, trying not to feel stung by the sharpness of Victoria’s tone.

When she returns, wet washcloth in hand, Victoria has already cleaned up most of the loose powder. She’s on her knees in the carpet, head snapping up when the door clicks shut behind Taylor. Victoria snatches the cloth from her hand as soon as she’s close enough to reach.

“Wait— ” Taylor tries, but it’s too late, Victoria’s already started scrubbing the carpet, powder going to paste on the fibers. Some of it comes up, but the rest stays behind, a paleish stain stark against the blue carpet.

“Fuck,” Victoria curses again, frustration pinching her brows together. Taylor wants to reach out, to smooth the furrow down with the pad of her thumb, but the tension in Victoria’s shoulders, the bitter twist of her lips is a clear signal; _not you, not now._

“Maybe we should try alcohol or something,” Taylor says, shifting uncomfortably as Victoria continues to scrub.

At the sound of Taylor’s voice, Victoria sighs, throwing down the rag in frustration. “Forget it. I’ll take care of this later, I need to get ready.”

“Ready for what?” Taylor asks, stomach sinking.

“I’ve got a date,” Victoria says, rising from the floor and putting her back to Taylor. She busies herself fussing around in the closet and silence fills the space between them. Taylor drops down to the bed, fighting back the sudden violent churn of her stomach. Her skin feels tight, itchy. So does her throat.

Victoria doesn’t ask her to leave, or to help, as she draws out several articles of clothing from her closet and lays them out on her couch. She works slowly, methodically, body rigid. She doesn’t glance over at Taylor, not even once. When she speaks, her voice is clipped, but Taylor swears there’s a note of apology there, somewhere, “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“I know,” Taylor says. Her voice is, mercifully, even.

“And, y’know, I’m,” Victoria speaks like she’s digging splinters out of her flesh; wincing, grim, determined, “single, so. When Logan asked—”

“ _Logan_?” Taylor interrupts before she can stop herself, tasting metal on her tongue. She realizes belatedly she’s bitten into the side of her cheek. She scrapes her tongue along the wound and swallows back the blood. “You’re _fucking_ kidding me, Victoria.”

“What’s your problem, Taylor?” Victoria’s found her surety again, grounded in anger. She whirls on Taylor, eyes hooded, lip curled back.

Taylor’s at war with herself, half of her instincts screaming _back off, back down, you_ don’t _fight with Victoria_ , the other half already too hurt to care. Some animal thrashing itself to death in a hunter’s trap, all panic and rage. “My _problem_ is that he’s a fucking dirtbag. My _problem_ is—”

She cuts herself off, the molten rage in her gut cooling, now a leaden pit, dragging her down to the floor. Even now, she can’t work herself up to name her hurt.

It’s terrifying, the thought of reaching into herself, of drawing out her still beating heart to offer up, of getting laughed out of the room for it. She’s always needed Victoria more than Victoria’s needed her, from their first meeting when she was a lanky, awkward freshman: brand new body, brand new clothes, trying on a brand new personality. Victoria had sought her out, _chosen_ her, elevated her from a lifetime of eating lunch alone, of never getting invited to parties, of being pointedly ignored by her peers. Victoria had given her strength, had shown her how to use it. Taylor owed her everything.

“You’re not my girlfriend,” Victoria says, in a tone Taylor hasn’t heard from her in weeks, has never heard directed _at herself._ It cuts right through her skin. “Is that it? Is that what you thought?”

“No,” Taylor says, sucking the inside of her cheek back between her molars. She grinds them shut, scrapes away more sensitive flesh. It’s that pain, she tells herself, that’s the source of the pressure welling up behind her eyes.

“Taylor,” Victoria’s voice is softer now, and when Taylor looks up she finds Victoria looking almost as lost as she feels, fingers twitching at her sides, the full bottom lip Taylor had dragged between her teeth just hours ago sucked into her mouth. _Stop talking,_ Taylor thinks, _stop, stop, stop, stop._

But she doesn’t.

Of course she doesn’t.

“It’s been fun, okay, but…”

It’s worse now that Victoria’s trying to _spare_ Taylor’s feelings than it had been when she was being deliberately cutting. She wants to throw up. “ _Stop_.”

Victoria doesn’t, but she tries a different tack, “It’s just a _date_ , okay?” Taylor’s not sure if the note of desperation she thinks she can detect underneath Victoria’s fierce annoyance is really there or wishful thinking. “It’s one date, it doesn’t mean anything. I have to get back out there, Taylor. I’m done being a social zombie, okay?”

“Whatever,” Taylor says, lifting herself up off the bed, she tries to leave but Victoria stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

“God, Taylor, don’t be so fucking emo about this,” she hisses, nails digging into Taylor’s skin through her shirt. It hurts a bit, but not enough. Taylor wants to lean over and kiss her, to push her blood into Victoria’s mouth. She wants Victoria’s fingernails under her flesh. She wants bruises that will last for days.

It’s nothing new, of course. She always wants what she can’t have with Victoria.

She’s fucking sick of it.

Taylor yanks herself out of Victoria’s grip.

“It’s just fucking _pathetic_ , you know?” She’s not sure which of them she’s addressing. “I mean, _Jesus,_ Vic, it’s _sad_. Look at you! Logan Robertson. A year ago if he asked you out you would have laughed in his fucking face. You’re so desperate, it’s embarrassing.”

“You twisted bitch,” Victoria sputters, outrage flushing her face red. “You wanna talk about embarrassing? Your fucking lesbo _crush—”_

Taylor flinches hard, but she turns the pain around, sharpens her words against it, “ _You_ kissed _me._ ”

“Like you said,” Victoria smiles, viciously, and Taylor feels it pass over her, the shadow of the executioner’s axe. “I was desperate.”

Taylor slams the door on her way out. She marches down the hall to her room, ignoring the looks she attracts from Dana and Kate who are hanging out in the hallway for _some_ fucking reason. She locks the door behind her, throws herself face down on her bed, and cries until her eyes are sore. When she gets up her face is puffy and she feels disgusting. Her stomach is still sick. She wants to get out of the room, to go stand under a scalding hot shower until the rage and the hurt slough off her like dead skin, but she doesn’t want to run the risk of seeing Victoria again tonight.

She gets the idea that alcohol will fix things, and digs out the tequila stashed in the back of her underwear drawer. She takes a drink straight from the bottle; it _burns,_ stinging the cut on the inside of her mouth, scorching her throat as she swallows it down. She manages one disgusting mouthful, but when she goes back for another she chokes, gasping and coughing and heaving until she’s retching into her trash can, watching her lunch come back up.

When she’s done she feels empty, physically, emotionally. Crouched on the carpet, she thinks she could shake apart. She rinses her mouth with the mouthwash in her nightstand and curls up in bed.

She dozes, waking hours later, when the room is completely dark. She has a few new texts and one missed call. Dana, Max, Brooke. Nothing from Victoria. She ignores the other messages, opens the text from Brooke.

**What did that bitch do now?**

She reads it in Brooke’s voice and she laughs, despite the hollowness in her chest. Word travels fast. Curiously, she swipes back through the concerned texts from Dana and Max. They were probably the ones to put Brooke on her case. Taylor navigates back to Brooke’s contact, too drained to respond to the others. She sends a message asking Brooke to drop by her room if she’s free and gets a nearly immediate affirmative response.

Taylor hauls herself out of bed, turning on the lights, and shuffling around the room to tidy up. She grabs her toothbrush and the bag from her wastebasket on her way to the hallway. She tosses the bag and brushes her teeth, setting the stopwatch on her phone and forcing herself to stop after two minutes. It doesn’t feel like enough. There are times when she can’t feel clean enough, like she’d like to gargle a mouthful of bleach to kill all the germs, all the nasty little things crawling in her, around her.

It’s been a problem for as long as she can remember, but it always get worse when she’s anxious. Right now the urge to get clean is almost overpowering, but she resists, knowing Brooke is probably already waiting for her.

She’s right; when she exits the showers she sees Brooke leaning up against her doorway, looking surly. It’s tremendously comforting.

“So, is it just the _thrill_ of inviting people over and leaving them to twist in the wind that makes you do it or are you just so spacey that you forgot you literally texted me ten minutes ago?” Brooke says.

“Hi to you too,” Taylor grumbles, shouldering past her and opening the door for them.

“I ordered pizza,” Brooke says, following Taylor into the room. “You’re paying.”

“I’m not hungry,” Taylor says.

“We’re both single and it’s Valentine’s Day and we’re gonna eat the entire damn thing,” Brooke continues, ignoring her. “Now tell me what Victoria did that had you stomping around the dorm looking pissed enough for _Kate_ to ask me to check on you.”

“Kate?” Taylor squirms. “Not Dana?”

“Yeah,” Brooke says. “Don’t dodge the question. What happened?”

Taylor collapses into the corner of her couch, pulling her knees up to her chest. Maybe inviting Brooke over was a mistake. Their rekindled friendship had been one of those rare, unexpectedly positive consequences of everything else falling apart in October. Brooke’s support, belligerent as it could be, had been Taylor’s lifeline through the fallout, a relationship untouched by the legacy of the Vortex club. But that didn’t change the fact that her company could be exhausting. It’s in Brooke’s nature to challenge the world around her. Taylor tries not to hold it against her, but that doesn’t mean it’s not overwhelming sometimes.

“Wait. Did you confess?” Brooke guesses, not content with Taylor’s silence. “Holy shit, _you did._ And she was an _asshole_ about it?”

Brooke sounds so genuinely offended that Taylor wants to laugh. It’s _bizarre._

Taylor remembers being thirteen years old, the week before Brooke was supposed to leave for summer camp, sweaty-palmed and anxious, leaning down to kiss her on the mouth. They’d been best friends, then. Each other’s only friends, really - or at least Brooke had been the only kid at school to give her the time of day. Taylor had fallen in love, as much as any kid their age could. Her affections hadn’t been well-received. Even now, five years later, thinking about it makes her bones itch, makes her throat seize up in dread.

That failed kiss caused a rift between them that hadn’t been mended until this year. Looking back the whole thing seemed so petty. They’d both been stupid, insecure kids, lashing out at each other because they didn’t know how else to process hurt.

The parallel between then and now is a bit uncomfortable. Taylor thinks she’d have a lot less drama in her life if she could stop kissing her best friends.

“She was an asshole, but it didn’t quite happen like… _that_ ,” Taylor says, not sure how much to reveal. She tries deflecting. “Where’s Warren?”

Brooke makes a face like she’d just bitten into a lemon, dropping down on the other end of the couch, and facing Taylor with her arm over the back of the seat. “He had a date.”

Taylor nods sympathetically, slowly unfurling on the couch, she lets her legs brush against Brooke’s, tense, and relaxes when Brooke doesn’t pull back. “Sorry.”

 _He doesn’t deserve you anyway,_ she wants to add. _You can do better._

But they’ve both had this conversation a dozen times and Taylor already knows she’s going to tell Brooke the truth about Victoria tonight. She doesn’t want to sit through a pep talk or a lecture about how she could do so much better than Victoria either. She tucks the words between her ribcage and presses her leg a little harder into Brooke’s, the most she’ll dare to offer while they’re still sober, while Brooke is still looking sour and wounded by Warren’s inattention.

Brooke lets out a long slow breath from between pursed lips, “It’s whatever.” Rolling her shoulders, she locks her gaze on Taylor’s face. Her expression is severe but her voice is uncharacteristically soft when she asks, “What happened tonight?”

The whole story comes tumbling past her lips once Taylor gets started, and it feels like such a relief to be able to just _say it_ aloud to someone. Brooke, to her credit, stays quiet and lets Taylor talk even when it looks like doing so physically pains her. She bites her lip hard and listens and Taylor feels gratitude crash into her like a tidal wave, and reigns in the impulse to reach across the sofa and drag Brooke into her arms. They’re not those kind of friends.

“Three fucking _weeks_ , are you kidding me?” is the first thing Brooke says when Taylor finally quiets. “You’re just now telling me?”

“Really? That’s where you’re going to start?” Taylor asks, a lightness in her tone that she hasn’t felt in hours.

Brooke rolls her eyes, “Where else should I start? With how much of an asshole Victoria is? Because I’ve been saying that for months and it’s not news to _either_ of us, but if you really want to hear some I-told-you-so’s—”

“So, yeah, three weeks,” Taylor interrupts.

Brooke snorts smugly but allows Taylor to redirect the conversation. “And you waited this long because…?”

“What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Brooke, Victoria started making out with me but I think it’s, like, a secret and I have no idea what it means?’”

“Yeah, exactly that,” Brooke says and, well, she has a point.

Taylor shrugs and slides further down the couch, the action brings them even closer together. Brooke doesn’t pull away. “She would have freaked if she found out I said anything. She would have ended it.”

“And now?”

Taylor squirms. _You’re not my girlfriend_ , bounces around in her head. “Maybe there’s not really anything to end anymore.”

Anything else Brooke might want to say is cut off by the knock at the door. Taylor pays for the pizza she didn’t order and after several minutes of benevolent nagging from Brooke she grabs a slice for herself. Brooke leaves just long enough to fetch a stack of DVDs from her room down the hall and pops one into Taylor’s player without asking. They eat pizza and watch _Deep Impact_ ; a disaster movie feels oddly fitting. Curled up against the armrest, listening to Brooke babble on about the relative accuracy of the physics of the movie, it’s almost possible not to think about Victoria.

Next is _Contact_ , which prompts a brief discussion of Sagan and a slightly less brief discussion of Jodie Foster. Taylor lets herself finally relax, buoyed by the familiar movie and Brooke’s gentle teasing. It’s nice while it lasts, but of course nothing simple ever does.

“Do you have any idea how frustrating it is watching you get your heart stomped on by Victoria Chase, of all people?” Brooke’s voice is so sudden, so unexpected that Taylor startles in her seat. She stills just as quickly, risking a glance in Brooke’s direction from the corner of her eye. Brooke’s gaze is locked on the TV and she looks relaxed, except for the restless drumming of her fingertips against the back of the sofa.

Taylor doesn’t say anything, half hoping that Brooke just drops it, that they can go back to watching the movie in silence. The rest of her wants to hear what it’s taken one and a half movies for Brooke to work up the courage to say.

“‘Cause you’re actually a,” the word sticks in her throat, but Brooke perseveres, “ _catch._ There are probably a ton of girls that would want to date you. Girls who wouldn’t treat you like shit.”

“A ton?” Taylor repeats, brows rising in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Brooke nods harshly, defensive.

“There are like, two out gay girls here, and one is taken.”

She can _hear_ the eyeroll in Brooke’s voice. “You’re literally the biggest lesbian I know and your gaydar is utterly broken. Taylor, we’re at an _art school._ ”

With her previous track record of crushes and no girlfriend to speak of, Taylor can’t really argue that point. “Whatever.”

“No, I’m serious—”

“Brooke, people barely tolerate me, or have you forgotten the scarlet V on my chest?”

“No one cares if you’re an annoying virgin.”

Taylor gapes, but just for a moment, recovering with a light kick to Brooke’s thigh across the sofa. “ _Bitch._ You’re one to talk. Besides, you know what i meant.”

Brooke cracks a smile, finally looking over at Taylor. They hold each other’s gazes for a beat of silence before Brooke heaves a sigh and finally pauses the movie.

“People don’t hate you as much as you think, even after all the Vortex Club stuff,” Brooke says, after a long pause. She rolls the words around in her mouth, jaw working thoughtfully when she speaks. “It’s Victoria, you know? It’s always been Victoria.”

Taylor stays silent.

“I mean, playing the part of mindless lackey didn’t do you any favors, but you’re actually sort of interesting when you’re not doing whatever she wants,” Brooke continues. “She holds you back.”

“She needed me,” Taylor says, and sniffs and _dammit,_ she can’t start crying now. “She’s got no one else left, Brooke. I can’t just abandon her.”

“Even after this?” Brooke’s tone is about 75% less harsh than it could be, and for that Taylor’s grateful.

 _Especially after this_ , Taylor thinks, because whatever happens with Logan, if _anything_ happens with Logan, it’s going to be short and useless and Victoria won’t have anything to show for it. She remembers the shakiness of Victoria’s voice on the phone that night in October, the tears Victoria has cried into her pillow since then.

Victoria could have texted that night. She didn't. She could have called back to get Taylor’s voicemail. _She didn't_. Taylor knows now what she had barely let herself hope back then; that Victoria needed to hear Taylor's voice that night as much as Taylor had needed to hear hers. 

That Victoria _does_ need her as badly as Taylor needs her. 

“I don’t know,” Taylor lies.

“She makes you stupid,” Brooke tells her. “That was the hardest part. For years. It’s like you became someone else entirely just to be what she wanted.”

“I was being what I wanted to,” Taylor says. “I’m not some… some piece of clay she just molded however she liked, okay? It’s not like that. It’s more equal than you think. She’s my best friend.”

“Best friends hurt you like that?” Brooke asks, bitter.

“Mine do,” Taylor says, cutting, regretting it the moment she sees Brooke flinch. “Sorry, I—”

Brooke shakes her head just once, sharp, and breathes out through her nose. She unpauses the movie. “Whatever.”

“Brooke—”

“Shut up, Taylor,” Brooke cuts her off. “You’re gonna go back. And she’s gonna fuck it up again, because Victoria’s a control freak and an asshole and she only cares about herself. You’re a safety net. No, that implies a last resort, _you’re a step stool._ Maybe one day you’ll get tired of her heel in your back.”

“She does care about me,” Taylor’s voice is weak to her own ears. She feels sick again.

“Then where is she now?” Brooke asks.

They don’t talk for the rest of the movie. When the credits roll, Brooke hauls herself off the couch, and starts the third film of the night. She bypasses her own stack of DVDs, grabbing _2001: A Space Odyssey_ off of Taylor’s movie rack. Brooke hates the film, she thinks it’s too long, too boring. Taylor remembers watching it for the first time with Brooke and her father during one of their slumber parties, back when they were kids. Brooke had fallen asleep half an hour into it, but Taylor had been enraptured the entire time, enthralled by the scope of the film, encouraged by her father’s apparent delight at her interest.

It’s past 3 a.m. by the time the movie’s finally over and Brooke, despite her clear best efforts, has dozed off twice. Taylor’s ready to call it a night as well. She shuffles back to the showers, brushes her teeth again, and when she returns to her room she’s surprised to find Brooke still there, stretched out on the sofa. She tucks herself as far into the crease as she can and sleepily asks for a blanket. Taylor throws one across her shoulders and Brooke’s breathing goes even and quiet before Taylor’s even under her own covers.

Taylor doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she knows she must have been when the sudden pounding on her door wakes her up.

“The fuck…?”

Taylor hauls herself up to see Brooke groggily fumbling for her glasses. “I don’t know.”

The pounding continues.

“Taylor,” Victoria’s voice through the door is uneven, like she doesn’t quite know how to regulate her volume.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Brooke groans, palms braced on her knees to force herself off of the couch.

“Just go back to sleep, I’ll handle this,” Taylor says, but Brooke’s already up, placing her body between Taylor and the door.

“Shut _up_ , already,” she snaps to the door. Then to Taylor, “You can go back to deepthroating her stilettos tomorrow, but she is _not_ coming in here tonight.”

“I’m going to send her home.” She means it. Maybe she’s not ready to walk away completely, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to put up with Victoria’s drunk ass at four in the morning. Not after yesterday.

Brooke rolls her eyes but scoots to the side, leaning back against the wall by the door. Out of sight from the hallway, but still at her side.

“Thank you,” Taylor grumbles, forcing more sarcasm into her voice than she feels. Brooke’s particular brand of surly concern is sweet in its own way.

“Who’s in there with you?” Victoria demands when Taylor opens the door.

“Victoria, go home,” Taylor says, stomach twisting at the sight of her. She looks disheveled, lost, eyes foggy with alcohol.

“Who are you with?” Victoria asks again, slapping a palm against the door. She doesn’t push hard, but Taylor braces her foot against it anyway, to stop her from trying to force her way in.

“You’re drunk,” Taylor says, sad, angry, _tired._ Victoria’s lipstick is smudged. Taylor doesn’t want to think about why.

She’s silent for a long moment, just staring at Taylor’s face through the crack in the door. When she speaks, her voice is low and quiet, “I know I fucked up before.”

Taylor waits for more, waits for the apology, but Victoria’s mouth is clamped shut.

Eventually, she gets tired of waiting.

“Just go, Victoria. You need to sleep.”

“Take me,” Victoria says, practically begs, then stumbles. She inhales sharply, trying again, “To bed, I mean. Don’t… don’t make me go alone. I can’t sleep without you. Taylor… Sweet T-”

She flattens her palm against the door again and steps forward and that’s when Brooke slides into view, shouldering her way in front of Taylor.

“Brooke,” Taylor sighs.

“ _Brooke_?!” Victoria sputters. Taylor watches the emotions play across her face; surprise, then confusion, anger, _hurt._

Taylor knows what this has to look like.

Brooke’s looking decidedly untucked, stripped down to a tank top and a pair of dark blue boyshorts. The right strap of her top is sliding down her shoulder, her hair’s a mess, clothes rumpled. Taylor’s certain she looks just as bad, knowing rudely awakened and just fucked are identical looks when the light is low and you’re paranoid.

Victoria’s jaw is clenched so hard it strains the muscles in her neck. Taylor watches her throat move as she swallows. “What…?” she starts, but doesn’t finish.

Taylor drops her palm onto Brooke’s shoulder and draws her back against her body. “Go home, Victoria,” she doesn’t sound like herself to her ears. “We’ll talk later.”

She shuts the door, feeling no resistance despite Victoria’s palm still pressed against the wood. Brooke, impatient, flicks out her hand to turn the lock. “You owe me one, Christensen.”

“Yeah,” Taylor agrees. She swallows hard, “I’ll buy you another pizza.”

Brooke falls back asleep, because she can sleep through anything, but Taylor lies awake for hours while sunlight filters in through the slats in her window blinds. Unconsciousness doesn’t come until much later, after seeing Brooke out of her room. It’s a fitful rest, uneasy, broken by noises from the dorm, and eventually a text from Victoria, asking to see her.

Taylor waits twenty minutes to respond, but she does go. She showers first; it’s midday, she revels in the emptiness of the room, the way the water echoes off the tiles with no one else around to hear. She feels cleaner, more in control, when she’s done. By the time she’s finished dressing and applying her makeup for the day, it’s been nearly an hour and a half since Victoria’s initial text. She wonders if Victoria’s been counting the minutes as well, or if she really doesn’t care. Maybe she hasn’t even noticed.

The anger that’s been simmering in her belly since yesterday is hard to hold onto when she sees Victoria, hunched over and miserable in her bed. The shades are drawn, there’s a half drunk glass of water on her nightstand, she looks like she’s been hit by a truck. When Victoria lifts her gaze to look at Taylor in her doorway, her expression is anxious, rueful, and Taylor thinks it should feel like a victory, but it doesn’t.

“Did you fuck her?” Victoria asks, voice scratchy.

Taylor jerks back, startled, and turns on her heel, wrapping a hand around the doorknob. “I can go,” she says cooly.

“I’m sorry,” Victoria blurts, pinching the bridge of her nose and exhaling sharply. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Did you fuck him?” Taylor asks, not realizing how much the thought had terrified her until it’s hanging in the air between them.

Victoria works her jaw soundlessly for a moment and Taylor’s stomach sours in the silence.

“No,” Victoria answers, finally.

“No,” Taylor says also, clenching her fists at the way tension drains out of Victoria’s shoulders. 

“I’m sorry,” Victoria says again.

Taylor wants to push Victoria down, to reach down into her and drag out the rest of the apology she’s owed. She wants to know that Victoria understands what hurt her, _why_ , but it’s all so exhausting. She leans back against the door instead, still gripping the doorknob, waiting.

“I don’t know,” Victoria sounds like she’s been choked, voice hoarse, barely there, “okay? I don’t know what we are.”

It takes Taylor a second to realize Victoria’s not talking about Logan. “Not girlfriends,” she says, feeling vicious and powerful but still _so tired_ when Victoria flinches. “You made that pretty clear.”

“I wanted it to be you,” Victoria says. “The entire time I was with him, that was all I could think about.”

Taylor’s been waiting to hear Victoria say _something_ like this for so long. Her heart flutters despite the ache in her chest, but she tamps it down, mustering up as much of her lingering hurt as she can, “What, Logan wasn’t _fun_ enough?”

Victoria recoils like she’s been slapped, running a distraught hand through her hair. “I know I fucked things up, okay? I know that.”

“Are you waiting for a medal?” Taylor sneers when Victoria pauses.

“Taylor.” Victoria looks so small and tired, alone, hung over, disheveled, clinging to her bed like a life raft, adrift. “Don’t—”

“You made me feel like an idiot,” Taylor says, clenching her fists hard, feeling her nails dig into the flesh of her palm, “for wanting you. For thinking you could want me back. Victoria, I don’t know if I can—”

“You can’t leave me,” Victoria pleads, and Taylor can hear the tears at the edge of her voice. “I can’t lose you too, Taylor. I need you. _Please.”_

Taylor thought she would feel powerful, hearing these words tumble from Victoria’s mouth. At the very least, validated. But she feels thin and reedy and as fragile as Victoria looks, and she finds herself sniffing back her own tears, shuffling to join Victoria on the bed. 

“I’m not leaving,” Taylor says, closing her fingers around Victoria’s clenched fist in the bedsheets, hoping that it’s enough.

Victoria takes a shuddering breath, releasing her grip on the sheets and turning her palm to press flat against Taylor’s, linking their fingers together.

x.X.x.

Valentine’s Day had been a disaster, but in a way it had been kind of a relief. Things with Victoria have been different since then. She turned down Logan’s offer of a second date, for one. And when Taylor asked her not to go out with anyone else as long as they were doing… whatever they were doing, Victoria agreed.

Things felt more _real_ between them after, even if they didn’t have a name for it. There was a sort of security in _finally_ hearing that Victoria wanted her back, in knowing that they could fight and it didn’t have to ruin them. It eased a tension between them that Taylor hadn’t even realized had been building.

And it made her more confident at times like these, pressed up into the couch with Victoria straddling her hips, kissing her breathless.

There had always been this dream-like quality to things, when they kissed like this before, like the whole moment was wrapped up in gossamer. It had been kind of terrifying, and not in the sexy way, to feel like one wrong move could blow it all apart. 

Taylor’s not as worried about that anymore, especially not with her palms cupping the back of Victoria’s thighs as she grinds down against Taylor’s leg, fingers edging under the hem of Victoria’s skirt. Victoria still sets the pace, which Taylor’s fine with — she prefers it, likes the familiarity of following Victoria’s lead, likes the practicality of it. But at least now she’s not afraid to show Victoria how much she wants her. She doesn’t feel guilty for craving more.

Victoria doesn’t pull back when Taylor’s hands creep farther, so she dares a little more, sinking the blunt edges of her fingernails into Victoria’s thighs until the steady rhythm of her hips is broken with a sudden wild jerk. She hisses, dragging her mouth away from Taylor’s with a strangled, “ _Fuck_.”

It takes a lot to break Victoria’s composure that way and Taylor can’t fight the satisfaction back quickly enough to look convincingly sheepish when Victoria draws back further to catch her gaze.

The _look_ Victoria levels her with hits her like a blow to the gut. _Smoldering_ is the first word that comes to mind, and it’s fitting because it sets fire to something low in Taylor’s belly that leaves her squirming into the couch cushions. She’s trying to be subtle but Victoria must notice because she grins then, something feral, something hungry. Her fingers fly to the collar of her blouse, working the buttons open.

“Take your shirt off,” she instructs, so low that Taylor barely notices the shake in her voice. Taylor draws her hands back to slip under the hem of her shirt, leaning forward to catch Victoria’s mouth in an urgent kiss as she works the fabric up inch by inch.

Victoria entertains the kiss for a moment, tongue slipping into Taylor’s mouth to curl up around her teeth before pulling back with a sigh. She shoves Taylor back against the couch, slapping Taylor’s hands away so she can pull Taylor’s shirt the rest of the way off herself.

“You’re hopeless,” she mutters, leaning forward to scrape her teeth down the side of Taylor’s neck, tongue flicking out as she mouths the hard edge of her clavicle.

It’s just not true. Taylor’s sure she’s never felt a hope as ferocious as she does now, hands shaking as she lifts them up to push Victoria’s blouse down her shoulders. There’s a hope in her that’s burning so bright and so urgent she thinks it might burn all the way through her, an open smoking crater in her chest.

She wants to say so to Victoria. Like that but more beautiful, so Victoria will know, so she’ll feel how special it is, but the words in Taylor’s throat have evaporated from all that hot, white hope inside of her. She can only gasp, claw at the skin of Victoria’s back, fingers catching clumsily on the clasp of Victoria’s bra. 

Victoria freezes, mouth open and wet and still at the base of Taylor’s neck, where she’d been working a bruise into the skin. Taylor stills herself as well, fighting through the haze in her head to articulate herself. “Is this okay?”

They’ve never gone this far before. 

Victoria doesn’t answer, just keeps breathing hot and slow against Taylor’s neck.

“Vic?” Taylor tries again.

“Yeah,” Victoria says at last. But instead of letting Taylor continue, she sits herself upright in Taylor’s lap, her own hands slipping behind her back to release the clasp on her bra. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she draws it down her chest, until she’s bare.

And the moment just hangs.

Because she’s never done this before.

They’ve never done this before.

This isn’t some video on a porn site with a girl that looks just enough like Victoria to get Taylor off before bedtime. This isn’t some shitty sext to a football player with more muscle mass than smarts. This is Victoria, real. It’s Victoria’s real body: the impression of her ribcage swelling with each heavy breath she draws, the birthmark peeking up from the waistband of her skirt, the faint white spiderweb of stretch marks along the underside of her breasts. 

Taylor swallows hard, tongue feeling heavy in her mouth, and drags her eyes up Victoria’s body to her face. Victoria’s mouth is hard, a quirk at the corner that says ‘I’m in Fucking Charge’ but really means she’s terrified. It’s the same false bravado she wears like a mask in the halls of Blackwell and Taylor hates it, wants to wash it away. Taylor wants to devour that look, to take and take until there’s nothing left but honesty for Victoria to wear. The mask is enough for the boys, for the faculty, for her parents, for the rest of the world. But Taylor wants more. She wants the real thing.

“You’re so beautiful,” Taylor husks and surges up to kiss her, hands splayed out on Victoria’s belly feeling the rise and fall of every jagged breath she takes. There’s so much _skin_ , so much permission to touch that it makes her dizzy. But she can’t afford to rush, not now, not if it could mean spooking Victoria. Taylor knows what this is; she recognizes the vulnerability in the nervous way Victoria catches her kiss, the shudder in her breath when Taylor’s fingers creep cautiously upward to cup her breasts.

The gasp that pours out of Victoria’s mouth at the contact turns into a needy whine when Taylor rolls a nipple between her fingertips. Victoria shudders and pushes herself further into Taylor’s hands which feels like enough of a green light to send her mouth sliding off Victoria’s lips, along the edge of her jaw, down her neck further and further until she’s scraping her teeth down Victoria’s chest, leaving messy, wet kisses in her wake. She breathes hot against a hard nipple, fighting back a shiver when Victoria keens again and asks, “Is this okay?”

Victoria’s only response is to weave a fist through Taylor’s hair and pull her closer. It hurts a little, but it’s hot and it’s all the encouragement Taylor needs to draw Victoria’s nipple into her mouth.

It’s all instinct then, and the tempo of Victoria’s breathing, the scrape of her nails against Taylor’s scalp that guides Taylor’s tongue on her flesh. The barest pinch of her teeth yields a high, skittering gasp. Taylor pants against her skin, unable to stop the buck of her hips up into Victoria’s as she drags the flat of her tongue up and over Victoria’s nipple, drawing a low, delirious moan out of the girl above her.

Taylor honestly thinks she could do this for hours with nothing but the reward of Victoria’s moans and the taste of Victoria’s skin to sustain her but apparently Victoria disagrees. She uses her grip in Taylor’s hair to haul her up for another scorching kiss, dragging Taylor’s bottom lip into her mouth and sucking. Someone whines aloud and Taylor’s startled to realize it was her; she didn’t know she could make noises that high. Victoria smirks into the kiss, biting down on Taylor’s lip until she can draw the sound out of her again, leaning hard into Taylor to catch it in her mouth this time.

Victoria pulls away, sitting upright again to stare down at Taylor, dazed and breathless against the couch. She slides off Taylor’s lap, standing up in front of her. Taylor tries to follow, delirious and wanting, but Victoria plants her palm on Taylor’s bare chest and shoves her back, hard, into the couch.

“Stay,” she commands, eyes dark with desire. She keeps them locked on Taylor’s face as she reaches up under her skirt, sliding her panties down her legs. Victoria kicks them off and Taylor’s gasp rattles around the room, embarrassingly loud. Victoria pretends not to notice, straddling Taylor’s lap again. She’s still wearing the skirt.

Taylor’s sure she looks ridiculous, eyes wide and locked on Victoria’s body, sunk back against the cushions of the couch, fists clenched into the seat so hard her knuckles have surely gone white. Victoria leans in, hands gripping the back of the couch on either side of Taylor’s head. She kisses her, slow and wet and _filthy_ , tongue working Taylor’s mouth open obscenely. The whole _world_ is in her kiss. Taylor’s so lost, eyes shut, eager and intoxicated. Victoria breaks the kiss again, sliding forward to catch the lobe of Taylor’s ear between her teeth.

“If you don’t start touching me soon, I’ll do it myself,” Victoria says, breath hot on Taylor’s ear.

 _God,_ she wants that, actually. She wants everything. The thought of Victoria touching herself in front of Taylor is almost too good to pass up, but she knows that Victoria meant it as more of a threat than an offer. Taylor nods and lets a long, slow breath out from between her clenched teeth. She drags her hands across the cloth material of the couch, marveling at how much smoother and softer Victoria’s skin is when they finally reach her. The pads of her fingers dance up the skin of Victoria’s thighs, barely stumbling when they disappear under the fabric of her skirt.

The first pass of Taylor’s fingers through the damp patch of hair between Victoria’s thighs and down the slick, hot center of her wrenches a strangled moan from Victoria’s throat. She bucks into Taylor’s hand with a harsh puff of air, searching for more friction. It’s startling, a little, how visceral the reaction is. Taylor bites her own lip hard at the rush of wetness between her own legs as a result.

“You’re incredible,” Taylor breathes, tilting her head to press a breathless kiss to the damp skin at Victoria’s temple. Victoria shifts against her, pressing her forehead further into Taylor’s neck and rolling her hips up into Taylor’s fingers.

It’s kind of nerve-wracking, at first. Taylor can’t see what she’s doing with the skirt in the way, she can’t see Victoria’s face where it’s pressed into her shoulder. She thinks maybe it would be easier on the bed, had always pictured this happening a little differently. Somewhere they could lay down, stretch out with candles, flowers, maybe some music. Then Victoria bites a moan into the flesh of Taylor’s shoulder and actually it’s perfect. This is perfect.

She can’t watch Victoria’s face for cues, so she improvises. She tunes in to the pattern of Victoria’s breath, lets it guide the motion of her fingers. It’s less like touching herself than Taylor thought it would be, but in the best way. Her nerves get lost in the rhythm they find. Time slips away and it’s just Victoria’s breath against her neck, Victoria’s moans in her ear, Victoria’s slickness under her fingers.

“More,” she gasps finally, dragging her lips up Taylor’s neck to mouth the curve of her jaw. She sucks hard and soothes the ache with her tongue.

“Like this?” Taylor asks, slipping her index finger through Victoria’s folds to trace her entrance. Victoria nods and Taylor breathes out, a little dizzy, pushing up and inside of her. Victoria’s so wet and so open and it’s so easy. Taylor pumps her hand and Victoria hisses against her, grinding down. 

“More,” she demands again and Taylor slips another finger into her, sliding her thumb up to roll light circles along Victoria’s clit in time with her thrusts. Victoria rocks down into her, moaning loudly into her neck. She lathes her tongue up to Taylor’s ear again, sucking the lobe into her mouth. “Like that,” she pants. “Just like that.”

When Victoria finally comes, with a sound like a ragged sob, it’s just as good as having it herself. Maybe better. Taylor shivers and tips them to the side, laying Victoria down along the couch and settling herself between her legs again. She carves a path of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses up Victoria’s chest and neck to her mouth again. She curls her damp hand along the curve of Victoria’s hip and fights against the urge to rut against Victoria’s thigh and sate the pressure between her own legs.

“Was it good?” she breathes, catching each shuddering breath from Victoria’s mouth.

“Yeah,” Victoria nods, voice high, barely there.

“Tell me,” Taylor pleads, aching to hear it. She wishes she could have seen Victoria’s face when she came, knew that the next time she’d find a way to do that even if she had to beg.

“It was good,” Victoria says, and the mask is gone. It’s just them. She’s still flushed from her orgasm, lips puffy and red from the bruising force of Taylor’s kiss. “You were so good.”

Taylor shivers and nods, swiping her tongue along the hot, pink skin of Victoria’s bottom lip in gratitude. “Thank you.”

Victoria threads a shaky hand through Taylor’s hair, gently this time, the scrape of her nails absent of the urgency they carried before. She parts her lips like she’s about to say something, but the words must be stuck in her throat because she swallows instead, shaking her head just slightly.

“Thank you,” Victoria echoes back at her and Taylor sinks down against her.

It’s perfect.

x.X.x.

“Touch yourself for me,” Victoria commands, still a little out of breath. 

Taylor complies, rolling onto her back the way she knows Victoria likes, knees slightly bent, toes dipping into the mattress.

This has been the pattern for a few weeks, since the first time they had sex. Taylor fucks Victoria and, after, Victoria hovers over her and tells her how to fuck herself.

Victoria hasn’t touched her yet, not really. It doesn’t worry Taylor as much as it really might have; there’s no absence of hunger in Victoria’s eyes when she watches her like this. There’s no hint of disgust, of repulsion, of reluctance. It’s just desire, it’s _lust_ and it rolls off of her in waves.

Victoria’s nervous, Taylor thinks. Failure has always scared her more than anything else. It’s this fear that keeps Victoria’s hands clenched into the bedsheets, keeps her mouth locked to Taylor’s mouth and neck without daring to creep lower. Sometimes Taylor wants to reassure her, wants to say _there’s no way you could touch me that could ever be wrong_ but she knows Victoria enough to understand this would only embarrass her.

So she waits and she obeys and she lets Victoria set the pace for them.

“Yes,” Victoria breathes, when Taylor’s hand settles in between her legs, working slowly, methodically. “Like that.”

The rhythm Taylor sets at first is lazy, _teasing_ , like how she imagines Victoria would start. Sliding two fingers up and down her slit, spreading around her wetness, dancing up occasionally to toy with her clit.

“Good,” Victoria says, breath hot and moist on the shell of Taylor’s ear. She settles on her side, right up against Taylor and slips a hand around her neck to kiss her. Victoria’s thumb strokes the point of Taylor’s chin, fingers curving around the side of her neck, heel of her palm resting gently on the column of Taylor’s throat. She does not press down but Taylor likes to imagine that she wants to. “More.”

Taylor nods, breathless, and pushes a finger into herself. Victoria sighs into the place behind her ear and kisses the side of her face.

“You’re so good for me, Taylor,” Victoria says and Taylor shivers in response, sliding a second finger into her cunt, moaning at the stretch. “So good. Sometimes it’s hard to watch you like this.”

Victoria nips Taylor’s earlobe, hard, and then draws it into her mouth to suck, slow and soothing when Taylor cries out from the pain.

“You make me so wet. It’s hard not to tell you to stop, so that I can fuck your hand again, get myself off another time before you even get to finish once.”

The fantasy makes Taylor whimper, bucking up into her own hand. “Fuck.”

Victoria leans over, kissing Taylor hard. She pulls Taylor’s bottom lip between her teeth and _bites_ , scraping her teeth across the sore flesh before flicking out to soothe it with her tongue. The kiss is forceful and dizzying. Taylor’s breathless and delirious, drowning in the depths of her desire, losing herself in Victoria’s mouth as she works her hand harder against herself.

She can feel Victoria trembling above her. Victoria’s fingers press hard into the side of her neck, nails digging into the skin just slightly, but the palm against her throat still doesn’t shift, just rests lightly against her, the barest suggestion of pressure. Taylor thinks about craning her neck, pressing up into it, but she feels like that would be cheating, and cheating would spoil the whole thing.

“I’m gonna come,” Taylor shudders, breaking the kiss, finally.

“No,” Victoria says. She takes Taylor’s mouth again, this time hard enough to bruise. When she pulls back, her own lips are swollen and red and Taylor stares, mesmerized as she speaks. “Not yet.”

Taylor grits her teeth, pushing out a desperate lungful of air through her nose. She wants to beg, but she knows it would be useless. Worse than useless, probably, because Victoria’s shown she’s not above drawing out Taylor’s torment to prove a point.

“Harder,” Victoria urges her, kissing softly down Taylor’s face and neck with a gentleness at odds with her command. “I know you can take more than that.”

“Yes,” Taylor moans and nods. She thrusts into herself harder, adding a third finger. It burns, a little, but she chases that slight edge of pain with a few sloppy, hurried strokes of her clit. It’s almost too much, and she has to drag her thumb down lower, so she doesn’t accidentally come before Victoria wants her to.

“Good girl,” Victoria praises her and Taylor keens, head thrashing against the pillows. “You listen so good for me, don’t you Taylor?”

“Yes, Victoria,” Taylor pants.

“You would do anything I asked you for.”

“Yes.”

Victoria hums and presses another too soft kiss to the side of Taylor’s mouth. “If I’d known, before, that I could have you like this I wouldn’t have waited so long. If I had known that all I had to do was _ask_ and you would put yourself on your back for me, fuck yourself like this for me, I would have asked you for it sooner.”

Taylor shivers again, biting her own lip hard, just short of breaking skin, and keeps fucking herself.

She’s never wanted to come this badly in her life.

Victoria sits up, dragging her fingertips teasingly down the plane of Taylor’s belly before drawing them away. She slides down, one hand resting lightly on the jutting spur of Taylor’s hipbone and Taylor’s breath stops in her lungs.

But the hand stays there, still not daring any closer to where Taylor wants it most.

“Look at you,” Victoria breathes and Taylor’s feels herself flush red, aroused and embarrassed. She starts to close her legs on reflex, but Victoria’s hand falls to her knee instead, stopping her, holding her open. “Your pussy is so pretty, Sweet T. It’s so pink and ready and open for me. You’re ready for me, aren’t you? You’re ready for me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” Taylor sobs, twining a hand in her own hair and pulling hard, just for something to do. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“I _am_ fucking you,” Victoria says. “Aren’t I? _I_ got you this wet, this ready. _I_ put those fingers inside you. _I’m_ fucking you, right now.” 

“Yes,” Taylor says, grinding down harder onto her fingers.

“You want me so bad I don’t even have to touch you to fuck you.” Victoria’s nails bite into the flesh behind Taylor’s knee. “How does it feel?”

“It feels good.” The words tumble out of Taylor’s mouth thoughtlessly. She’s surprised she’s coherent enough to speak at all, really. “It feels so good. You fuck me so good, Victoria.”

“Yes,” Victoria says slides lower, pressing a kiss, slow, and wet, open-mouthed just under Taylor’s belly button. Her whole body shudders in response.

“Please,” Taylor begs, finally. “Please can I come?”

Victoria works her way back up Taylor’s torso, biting and sucking and kissing as she goes, leaving Taylor’s skin red, her head spinning. Finally, she gets to Taylor’s mouth and kisses her again, so hard it hurts, only stopping when Taylor’s breathless and just barely short of breaking apart.

“Do it,” Victoria says.

Taylor comes with Victoria’s name on her lips, Victoria’s hands cupping her head, Victoria’s eyes looking directly into hers.

 _I love you_ , she thinks, forcing herself to keep their eye contact, fighting every urge to shut her eyes, to look away. _I love you I love you I love you._

It’s not the right time to say it yet.

When Taylor’s body starts to come down, dramatic full-body spasms easing to gentle, periodic shivers, Victoria kisses her again. Soft. Softer than fresh snowfall, softer than anything on earth.

Victoria kisses her and strokes the side of her face.

It’s not the right time to say it yet.

But soon.

x.X.x

Victoria’s parents want her home for Spring Break.

“I told them there’s no way I’m going without you,” Victoria tells Taylor.

“Are you sure?” Taylor asks. “You don’t have to do this for me. And I wouldn’t want to make things awkward—”

“Fuck, are you kidding me? Last time was so boring, I almost couldn’t take it. If I have to go up there alone again, I’ll lose my mind,” Victoria huffs. Then she pauses, jaw clenched like she’s thinking hard. Gingerly, Victoria reaches over and takes Taylor’s hand, drawing it into her lap and squeezing. “I need you there, I think.”

Taylor doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of hearing that Victoria needs her.

“Okay,” she says. Then, giddily, leans in to kiss her. _I love you, I love you, I love you_ still echoes every heartbeat but Taylor holds her tongue. “When do we leave?”

The drive up to Seattle is usually five hours, but Victoria draws it out to seven. They leave early and stop in Portland for brunch and Victoria holds Taylor’s hand under the table.

The first half of the trip isn’t so bad. They talk and listen to music. Taylor’s always liked being a passenger in a car. She likes to lean her head against the glass of the window and look out and imagine the lives she could live in all the places that they pass.

But after four hours, even she’s starting to feel restless. Victoria must be too, because she decides to divert them to Olympia. “I need to stretch my legs,” Victoria says. “And there’s a park here we can visit. I used to go there for photos a lot.”

It feels good to stand up and walk around a little. There are families with children about, but they mostly stick to the playgrounds and the pond. Victoria leads them further into the park, away from the crowds, through a twisty wood chip path to a clearing with splintery wooden benches. Taylor spreads her coat out for them to sit on without getting poked.

“This place is nice,” Taylor says, looking around. The trees are so thick and tall she can almost pretend that they’re really out in the forest, in the middle of nowhere. It’s a nice feeling; being nowhere with Victoria.

“Yeah,” Victoria agrees. She looks tense. Taylor glances around again and then seizes Victoria’s hand, bringing it up to her lips and pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles. Victoria smiles and it’s so beautiful that Taylor _aches._ “I used to come down here on weekends to practice nature photography.”

“You should show me pictures sometime.”

“It was years ago and they were just practice. They’re not any good.”

Taylor finds that hard to believe. Victoria has worked hard to get where she is, to be as good as she is, but there’s a measure of raw talent that she possesses that makes the idea of Victoria producing bad work impossible. But she knows this isn’t what they came here to talk about.

“Are you nervous?” Taylor asks, softly. She strokes her thumb in a circle along the palm of Victoria’s hand.

“My parents didn’t want me to go back to Blackwell,” Victoria says. She looks straight ahead while she speaks, so Taylor knows this must be difficult. “But they didn’t want me in Seattle again, either. I could tell. When the…when everything came out about Nathan and the Vortex Club, they were embarrassed. Disappointed.”

Victoria cuts herself off, biting her lip, still gazing out into the trees. Taylor squeezes her hand and waits.

“I knew that’s why they didn’t want me around. They didn’t want to have me there as something to keep explaining to their friends. They tried to get me to transfer to a school in New York, actually. When I said no they even offered to pony up for enrollment in a course abroad. London. Or Paris.”

“You came back,” Taylor can’t help the breathlessness that creeps into her voice. Jefferson had been the only reason Victoria had chosen Blackwell in the first place. She’d always admired his work and a chance to learn from the man himself had been more appealing than the prestige and glamorous locales other options had offered. But after the Dark Room, after _everything_ there was no reason for Victoria to pass on her parents’ offer. “Why?”

“Because the thought of being alone someplace else made me want to fucking kill myself,” Victoria snaps, but the harshness in her tone isn’t meant for Taylor. She feels tears spring to her eyes anyway. “At least at Blackwell I had you.” 

“Oh.” 

“I don’t know why they insisted I come back this week,” Victoria finishes, shrugging helplessly. “I don’t know what they want.”

“It’ll be okay,” Taylor says and she doesn’t know if it’s true. But she’s been crushed by enough anxiety to know that sometimes you need to hear it. “You’ll be okay.”

Taylor has no idea if Victoria believes it, but she nods and turns her head and kisses Taylor anyway.

Victoria’s parents seem pleased enough to receive them, when they finally arrive. Victoria’s dog is ecstatic. She barks and runs around their feet and Taylor almost feels like she’s intruding as she watches Victoria scoop Princess up in her arms and bury her face in the dog’s fur.

Mr. Chase insists on bringing her bags in for her. She trails behind him as he shows her to the guest room. “Victoria will be up shortly, I’m sure. It’s nice to see you again, Taylor,” he says as he leaves. 

Alone, Taylor paces the room, putting away her things and inspecting her surroundings. The guest room is just as she remembers it; well-decorated, but impersonal. It feels almost like a hotel. The pictures on the walls are all art shots, which makes sense given that her parents own a gallery, but Taylor’s still disappointed by the lack of family photos on display.

Most of her things are put away by the time Victoria shows up.

“Sorry for the wait,” she says, kissing Taylor distractedly. She scans the room quickly and nods to herself. “Dinner’s in an hour. Let’s go wait outside.”

The Chase home truly is beautiful and the deck might be Taylor’s favorite part of it. The view from here is breath-taking, all trees and ocean. It’s hard for Taylor to imagine what it must have been like growing up here, just looking out your window to all of this majesty all of the time.

“I could get my dad to start the fire pit,” Victoria offers, but Taylor knows that if Victoria really _wanted_ a fire she would have asked him already, so she shakes her head. The sun isn’t quite down yet, anyway, so it’s not like they need the light.

The chairs out here are comfortable, but way too large. Taylor entertains the idea of moving over, sliding in next to Victoria and cuddling up, but it feels too risky to do without invitation.

It’s not like they’ve told their parents they’re together, yet.

“Good to be home?” Taylor asks, when Victoria fails to start a conversation.

Victoria smiles tightly, too tightly. “It’s good to be done driving, at least. And I did miss the house. And Princess.”

“Where is she?” Taylor asks. Victoria’s obviously not ready to talk about her parents yet. It’s safer to switch topics than to push too fast.

“At mom’s feet, hoping she drops some of the risotto she’s making.”

The hour creeps by. The sky has gone from orange to bruise-purple by the time Mr. Chase comes to collect them. Dinner is predictably delicious, but the tension hanging over the table kills whatever appetite Taylor had sat down with.

The four of them, plus Princess, spend the rest of their evening in the spacious living room. Taylor tries her best to answer questions about the semester, her plans for college in the fall, her mother’s health as casually as possible but there’s an awkwardness in the air that just won’t leave. It’s not helped by Victoria’s terse, one-word contributions whenever the conversation turns to her.

Taylor excuses herself early. She showers and goes to bed by nine thirty.

She awakes the next morning to a text from Victoria apologizing for last night’s weirdness. It takes all of her self-control not to ask right then exactly what had happened between Victoria and her parents the night before. But she waits, knowing Victoria still needs time.

They spend their first full day with the Chases out of the house. Eating out at restaurants in the city, stopping in at the Chase Space just to visit. Victoria’s sullen the entire time, a sharp contrast to how excited she’d been to show Taylor all of these same places last year.

It’s later that night, after they’ve all gone to bed, that Victoria finds her in the guest room to talk. It had been strange and difficult being with Victoria’s parents all day.

Even though they weren’t out at Blackwell yet either, it was at least easier to find opportunities to be intimate and alone on campus. But the oppressive atmosphere of the Chase house wasn’t particularly conducive to the kind of casual affection that had become a part of their relationship recently.

Taylor scoots over in bed, already drawing back the covers as soon as the first crack of light appears in the doorway. Victoria slips in quietly, followed by Princess who pads after her eagerly, the tags on her collar jingling with each step. 

Princess settles down at the foot of the bed and Victoria curls into Taylor’s side. The kiss they share is chaste, comforting. Taylor runs her hands through Victoria’s hair until some of the tension finally drains out of her shoulders.

“They’re selling the house,” Victoria says, voice just above a whisper. “At the end of the month. They’re moving to Colorado.”

“What?” Taylor asks reflexively. “Colorado?”

“We have a vacation home in Boulder,” Victoria explains. “They say they need a change of pace.”

“What about the gallery?”

“They’re selling that too,” Victoria says. “They’re getting rid of everything here. It’s why they wanted me back. To break the news, to let me pick what I want to keep.”

“Oh,” Taylor breathes. She feels stupid, not knowing what else to say. “I’m sorry.”

“They told me they were thinking about it, back when I was here for Christmas.” The quiver in Victoria’s voice makes Taylor’s heart ache. “I asked them to wait. Taylor, I _needed_ them to wait.”

Taylor stays silent, running her hand through Victoria’s hair again, nails gently dragging against her scalp.

“I just,” Victoria’s voice catches, “I _grew up_ here. And I know I’ve been away for Blackwell but — I’ve just lost so much this year. So much is different. I just needed something to stay.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Taylor whispers again, kissing the crown of Victoria’s head.

“They expect me to believe that bullshit about a change of pace,” Victoria storms ahead, breath quickening. “Like I’m so fucking stupid. They’re leaving because of me. Because I embarrassed them. And they don’t want to have to deal with what’s it’s done to their reputation with the people in this town.

“And it just feels like… like I’m being punished. Like this entire year has been punishment for every shitty thing I’ve ever done. I lost my reputation, I lost my friends, I lost everyone’s respect. Now I’m losing my fucking house. _And I deserve it._ I’ve lost every good thing in my life, except you, and I wake up every morning wondering if today’s going to be the day when I…”

“When you what?” Taylor prompts her, gently when the silence becomes too much.

“When I finally lose you too,” Victoria says.

“You won’t,” Taylor promises. She pulls back, gently cupping Victoria’s jaw, angling her face so she can’t keep looking away. “I promise you won’t.”

“How can you do that?” Victoria asks, sounding lost, broken.

“Because I love you,” Taylor says, finally. She thought she’d be scared when this moment came, but she just feels free. “I love you, Victoria.”

“Oh,” Victoria says. And then she’s kissing Taylor, hands in Taylor’s hair, pressing up into her like she can’t be close enough. “How long?” Victoria asks, against her lips. She’s trembling.

“Years,” Taylor admits, leaning into Victoria’s grip. She settles her mouth at the edge of Victoria’s hairline and speaks into her skin. “I’ve been in love with you since we were freshmen. I just never thought I could have you. I never thought I’d get to hold you like this. But it was okay because being close to you was enough. But now…”

“Now?” Victoria prompts her, tilting her head up to slant her mouth into Taylor’s again, soft. “Now?”

“Now it’s different.” Taylor’s heart is pounding in her chest. She slides her hand up between them, resting her palm over Victoria’s heart, to feel it beating just as fast. “Now it’s better. I didn’t realize how empty I was, not until you filled me up,” she pauses to grab Victoria’s hand and drag it up to her own heartbeat. “Why would I ever go anywhere else? You’re the only thing I want.”

“I love you too,” Victoria trips over the words, a little, uncharacteristically inelegant. But Taylor doesn’t care.

She’s never felt this warm.

x.X.x

They don’t last the whole week. Victoria wakes up the morning after their talk determined to do whatever her parents need as quickly as possible, so they can get back to Arcadia Bay. Taylor’s a little surprised by the urgency, now that she knows Victoria won’t be able to come back to this house again, but she doesn’t remark on it. She’s not about to offer anything Victoria might interpret as criticism, not when her emotions are this raw.

Victoria identifies the things she wants her parents to take with them to Boulder and what she wants to go into storage, until she moves into her dorm in the fall. She goes to the Chase Space and spends a few hours just walking around. She takes Taylor to her favorite hangouts, she meets with the friends she has still in the city. She holds Taylor’s hand in public, in front of her parents, when they’re alone. When they sit together, Victoria scoots close enough for their thighs to touch.

The Chases see. They notice. They don’t comment, which leaves Taylor a little uneasy but she supposes that’s better than them being upset. The last thing Victoria needs to deal with on top of everything is her parents freaking out about their relationship.

“It’s a little late,” Mr. Chase frowns, reluctantly helping them load their bags back into Victoria’s car. “You should stay another night, leave tomorrow morning.”

“The dorms stayed open all week,” Victoria says, closing the trunk and giving him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “It doesn’t matter when we show up.”

Taylor thanks Victoria’s parents one more time for their hospitality while Victoria hugs her mother and the dog, and then they leave.

The tension sloughs off Victoria with every mile. By the time they hit Olympia again, she’s nearly back to her usual self, fiddling with the radio, complaining about other drivers.

“I can’t believe my entire fucking spring break was wasted on that bullshit,” Victoria says, when they’ve stopped for dinner, frustration catching up with her. “Sophomore year? San Francisco. Last year? Vancouver? This year? Shit City.”

Taylor nods sympathetically, “I know. But…”

Victoria looks up from where she’s furiously spearing a tomato with her fork. “But?”

“Well, it’s only Thursday,” Taylor says. “Break isn’t over yet, let’s make the most of it. Go somewhere else, before we head back to Blackwell.”

Victoria takes a sip of her iced tea, considering. “Did you have someplace in mind?”

“Cannon Beach,” Taylor says. “Dad took us there a few summers ago. It’s no _Vancouver_ or anything, but it’s nice. We can take the 101 from here, drive right down the coast. And from there it would only be an hour drive back to Arcadia Bay.”

Victoria agrees. They pick out a hotel and look up directions from the restaurant as they finish their meals. Taylor feels giddy and in love, swelling with pride as Victoria’s own excitement begins to mount. It’s good to see her finally looking happy, after everything. Better still to know she’s had a hand in Victoria’s improved mood.

Victoria calls ahead to make hotel reservations while they’re on the road. They arrive late in the evening, but check-in goes smoothly. Victoria pays with her credit card, saying her parents owe her anyway.

Their room is on the third floor. It’s easily the nicest hotel room Taylor’s ever stayed in; the bed is king-sized and feather soft, there’s a balcony that looks right off into the ocean, a huge tub in the ensuite bathroom, even a gas fireplace in the bedroom.

Taylor strips while Victoria lights the fireplace, drawing a warm bath for both of them.

Victoria’s startled expression at finding Taylor nude behind her is swallowed up by something softer, warmer, hungrier when Taylor takes her hand and leads her to the bath. She settles comfortably between Taylor’s legs, leaning her head back against Taylor’s chest.

Taylor washes Victoria’s body slowly, with reverence. It feels holy, it feels like worship. Her mouth follows the path of her hands down the slope of Victoria’s neck, across her shoulders as she rinses away the soapy water. Her fingers dip beneath the water and she fucks Victoria languidly, only stopping after Victoria’s come twice, writhing back against her and tugging Taylor’s hand away herself.

After, Victoria pulls Taylor over to the bed. She lays her down and this time, when Taylor starts to fuck herself, Victoria covers her hands. 

“Show me,” she whispers into Taylor’s mouth. “Let me feel how you like it.”

And it’s hard to keep her head on straight, with Victoria stretched over her body like that, with her fingers cupping Taylor’s as she touches herself, but she tries. “Like this…”

And then they’re moving together. If Victoria watching her made Taylor hot, Victoria touching her, even like this, burns straight through her. Victoria gasps into Taylor’s mouth, shuddering over her and Taylor keens, breathy, in response.

“You’re so wet,” Victoria says, flicking her tongue into Taylor’s mouth.

“For you,” Taylor whines, bucking up helplessly into their hands. “Just for you.”

Then Victoria lets go of Taylor’s hand, batting it away lightly, and she’s touching Taylor unaided for the first time. She slides lower, running the pad of her index finger around Taylor’s entrance, teasingly. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it,” Taylor says. “I want your fingers.”

Victoria enters her with two fingers, eyes locked on Taylor’s face and it takes all of Taylor’s strength not to look away, overwhelmed by the sensation of being stretched around Victoria’s fingers, by how stripped bare she feels beneath Victoria’s gaze. “Fuck,” she chants. “Fuck. Victoria.”

Victoria kisses her hard, her other hand falling to Taylor’s breasts, cupping her with her palms and then sliding down to tug at her nipple.

“You did such a good job taking me. God, I can feel how much your body wants me, now that I’m finally inside you. It’s like it doesn’t want to let me go,” she says and Taylor feels herself clench down automatically on Victoria’s fingers in response. Victoria grins against her neck, sucking a bruise into the sensitive flesh and thrusting into her again, harder. Taylor mewls, bucking up into Victoria’s hand. She picks up the tempo in response. “Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels good,” Taylor pants. And it does. It _really_ fucking does, but it’s not going to be enough to get her off. “Here, can you…?”

She reaches down to where Victoria’s other hand has fallen to clutch her hip bone and guides it to her clit instead.

“Like this?” Victoria asks, kissing the side of Taylor’s breast and moving her thumb in slow circles against her.

“Yeah,” Taylor says, fingers clawing desperately at the bedsheets. “Just like that.”

Victoria slides lower, getting a better angle, sliding in deeper than Taylor’s ever been able to with just her hand. Victoria curls her fingers then, pressing up into her until she hits something that makes Taylor jerk and sputter.

“Fuck,” Taylor moans. “Don’t stop. I need—”

“Wait,” Victoria says, withdrawing her hand and sliding back up the length of Taylor’s body to kiss her again, quick. “I want to…”

And then she’s mouthing her way back down, guiding Taylor’s thighs further apart and settling herself between them. “This okay?” Victoria checks, sounding as breathless as Taylor feels.

She can only manage a dazed nod in response.

It’s not that she’s never thought about this — about Victoria using her mouth on her — but that doesn’t mean she could have prepared for the reality of it. For the way it feels when Victoria’s nails scrape down Taylor’s thighs, for the warmth of her breath over Taylor’s mound before she dips her head lower, for the first flick of her tongue against Taylor’s cunt, for the sight of her head buried between Taylor’s legs.

Victoria flattens her tongue, drawing it up the length of Taylor’s cunt and back down. She moans against Taylor, like _she’s_ the one being fucked, and draws back, spreading Taylor open with her fingers.

“You taste so good,” she says, and drops down to lick her again. Taylor sighs, sharp, biting into her fingers to bury the noise. Victoria smirks and it’s _filthy_. Smug. She brings her fingers back to Taylor’s entrance, thrusting in again. “You like that?”

Taylor’s jaw snaps shut and she can only whine again, high. She nods frantically, too overwhelmed to muster any words.

Victoria drops her head again, sucking Taylor’s clit into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it. Taylor cries out, unable to stop herself from bucking up into Victoria’s face.

“Easy,” Victoria whispers, riding the wild jerk of Taylor’s body out with her fingers. Then she drops her forearm over Taylor’s hips, pressing her back down into the bed. “I’ve got you.”

She’s not going to last, with Victoria’s mouth on her, with Victoria’s fingers inside her. She feels dizzy, desperate. Without thinking, she lets her hands drift down to Victoria’s head, tangling in her short blonde hair. She pauses, hesitant but Victoria doesn’t stop or slow at all in response.

Experimentally, Taylor tugs, pulling Victoria’s hair softly at first, and then harder when she moans encouragingly against her. Taylor’s never been rough before, has lacked the boldness to do anything but follow where Victoria leads, but she thinks maybe she should have tried sooner because it seems to really be getting Victoria off. She rakes her fingers into Victoria’s scalp hard enough to sting, and Victoria moans again, working her tongue faster, pushing up into Taylor harder.

She was already on the edge, but the new ferocity of Victoria’s attention carries her over it. Taylor’s body bows, Victoria’s name flying past her lips in a sharp huff, a burst of wetness sliding out of her to coat Victoria’s chin, her fingers.

“Fuck,” she whispers, collapsing bonelessly into the sheets. Victoria laps at her, softly, until her body stops shaking and then backs off, knowing that Taylor would be too sensitive for another round. She doesn’t make her way back up, yet, just lies there with her head pillowed on Taylor’s thigh, occasionally pressing tender, wet kisses into Taylor’s skin. Taylor collects herself, stroking Victoria’s hair weakly. “Thank you.”

Victoria hums against her hip bone and finally crawls her way back up Taylor’s body.

“Thank _you_.” She kisses her. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Taylor mumbles, blissed out and sleepy. She’d be embarrassed if she didn’t feel so floaty.

“That was hot,” Victoria whispers, giddy. Taylor smiles slow and sweet and musters the strength to tilt her head downward, catching Victoria’s lips in a soft kiss, stupidly startled when she tastes herself on her girlfriend’s mouth. 

“Happy spring break,” Taylor says deliriously and Victoria laughs, burying her face in Taylor’s neck.

x.X.x

Victoria kisses her in the halls between classes on Tuesday, where everyone can see.

Later, Courtney finds her.

“Guess this explains why I was never a full member of the girls’ club, huh?” she asks. Then she hugs Taylor and squeezes her shoulder and heads back to her friends, promising to call her later.

“I’m happy for you,” Max says, passing by her in the cafeteria. 

“Un-fucking-believable,” Logan sneers in the hallway. Victoria flips him off. Later, she prints out embarrassing sexts he’d sent her and posts them on the bulletin board of the girls dorm.

“Took her fucking long enough,” Brooke sighs, but her feigned annoyance doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s even polite to Victoria later in class.

“I love you,” says Victoria, at night, all pressed up into Taylor’s side under the blankets.

“I love you too,” says Taylor. She kisses her soft, and then hard, and then soft again.

She sleeps soundly and long.

**Author's Note:**

> check out the fanart i commissioned (at RIDICULOUSLY REASONABLE PRICES) [here](http://catorzze.tumblr.com/post/159840415046/victoria-and-her-gal-pal-taylor-commissioned-by)
> 
> check out my tumblr [here](http://explosionshark.tumblr.com)


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